


Becoming Team Human

by SimplerontheInside



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Allison, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sterek if you squint, Stiles Uses A Baseball Bat, Team Human, everyone is a BAMF basically, forced road trip, season3au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplerontheInside/pseuds/SimplerontheInside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The humans are somewhat used to being the sidekicks. But there there aren't always wolves around to protect them, and suddenly Stiles is finding himself forming his own pack. Canon up until the beginning of Season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've got this massive ten-maybe-twelve chapter fic brewing, and despite it's un-beta'd state I couldn't help but post a peek. More will be coming soon if people seem interested in reading it.

The summer after the Kanima is difficult. Gerard vanishes after the battle, and her father is silent for weeks. There’s no one left to fight with except this stranger she’s become.

Jackson goes to London and the wolves are left to lick their wounds, with two Alphas too exhausted to squabble over leadership. They think they’ve won.  
They’re wrong, Allison thinks, they’ve survived, that’s all.

She’s spent the last two years being a survivor. Surviving her aunt, her mother, and now this strange adopted family.

She’s only human, and she wonders how much more she can endure.

 

Its Lydia that finally breaks into Allison’s self imposed banishment.

Her father lets the other girl in, giving his daughter an anxious glance as he shuts the door.  
She brings wine, tucked away in an oversized designer handbag, and she flops on the bed telling Allison that she’s fully prepared to get her completely wasted if that’s what it takes.

They talk. And Lydia cries about Jackson, and how he’s an oaf, and how she keeps waking up without knowing where she is. And that makes Allison cry about how she knows exactly how she got to be where and what she is, and it’s scary to be this powerful and not care, and maybe this is what Gerard wanted and she just really hates him.

In the morning Lydia buys her a manicure, and they end up in starbucks, with sticky nails and slightly red eyes. They see Scott in line and end up ducking beneath a display. It feels weird and normal, as if they’re just two teenage girls avoiding an ex boyfriend.

They laugh at the ridiculousness of it, and for a moment it feels like everything might be sort of okay.

Lydia likes spending time in the Argent’s new apartment. It’s fresh and cool in the summer heat, and the Mr. Argent is always knocking on Allison’s door with offers of snacks and iced tea. Memories of Jackson aren’t pasted all over these walls like in her own home, and it feels safe. Allison is quiet sometimes, but it’s a comfortable silence for the most part, and for the first time in a long time Lydia feels no pressure to cover it with chatter.

She’s knows Allison’s dad is tired and resigned and desperately afraid of his daughter being hurt. But he doesn’t lock her up, or send her to counseling like Lydia’s parents would. 

The Argents are weird and twisted in so many ways, but she wishes sometimes that her dad would teach her to fight off the bullies and how to escape when kidnapped or chased by werewolves and other monsters.

It’s a useful skill in this town.

When she mentions the dreams, Mr. Argent gives her a short, wicked looking knife, and shows her how to throw it. She holds it under her pillow at night, and when Peter Hale appears her fingers tighten around the handle and she remembers that she has claws now too.

 

Before school starts again Allison takes her to the secret room where they keep rows and rows of weapons hanging on steel blue walls. She holds each in her hands, memorizing them, their weight and width and the way each implement fit into the whole.

She has the whole of the artillery categorized in her head when she turns to Allison and asks “So where do we start?”

It’s just the basics, Allison tells her, but with each swing and punch, with each new bruise and bead of sweat Lydia finds that she feels a small bit less helpless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles will be in the next chapter! And actual dialogue! And plot!   
> The pretty comment button is right there. Click it. Click it for Stiles.


	2. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, dialogue, and plot. As promised. It might be a little low on plot actually, but Lydia has marshmallows...

September comes and with it a new school year and a new threat. This time it’s a pack of Alphas, and a handful of psychotic druids. Keeping the town alive is taking up most of the Hale pack’s time, and Stiles finds himself hitting the books alone.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with Deaton (okay the guy gives him the chills, but Scott likes him so it’s cool), or research, or with the veterinary clinic. But spending all his time there quizzing said veterinarian on the mystery of the week gets dull after a while, and Stiles would much rather be measuring response times or chucking lacrosse balls at Scott.

But Derek does most of the pack’s training now, weekly and then daily, and one day Stiles realizes the only time he’s seeing his best friend is at school and in the rare emergency meeting he’s allowed to sit in on, feeling very small and painfully human.

When he’s kidnapped it’s not his best friend that comes to the rescue.

It’s Allison.

 

He’s not as shocked as he should be, thought that could be due to the whole hostage situation and massive blood loss thing. 

They haven’t actually spoken since her whole evil brainwashed act in the spring that nearly got everyone killed. Scott had spent the summer mourning her, and Derek was still slightly afraid of her. Stiles kind of understands the major-loss-trauma thing and doesn’t entirely blame her.

He’s still friendly with Boyd and Erica, and they were recovering from Allison-induced-trauma, so out of respect he’d followed everyone in the awkward avoid the ex dance for the first week of school.

But at this moment he was really really over that whole phase, and if he wasn’t dangling by his wrists and bleeding in quite a few different - and painful - places, he’d probably be fanboying over how incredibly ninja she’s being.

One arrow frees his hands. Another two fly fast to take out the seriously creepy dude that put him there. 

His legs aren’t quite working when he hits the ground, but Allison is just quick enough to loop an arm under his shoulder and keep him upright. Her aim is good, and she helps him hobble out and past the very still corpse.

“Hey Allison.”

“Hi Stiles.” She laughs.

She sets him down on something that feels vaguely earthy, and he realizes they’re outside a cave somewhere in the forest. He’d been kidnapped by a druid and stowed away in a cave while waiting for a werewolf rescue. This is his life.

Allison is prepping a mini crossbow, fitting bolts into place. Someone hands Stiles a thermos. He takes a taste. It’s hot chocolate.

“Thanks” and then he realizes he really must be in shock, because it looks like Lydia is standing in front of him with a packet of mini marshmallows.

“Lydia?”

“Stiles.” The hallucination says, rolling her eyes exactly like Lydia would.

She isn’t disappearing, so he takes a handful of the offered marshmallows, because, well, marshmallows, and stares as she starts pulling bandages out of a knapsack.

There’s a series of knives and charms strapped to a belt on her waist, and she’s wearing a leather jacket over the usual Macys blouse and floral skirt. A few yards away Allison is in full on hunter gear, all leather and archery paraphernalia. They work together with a practiced ease, patching him up and re-arming in case of another attack. 

This would explain their general absence from school parties and lacrosse games.

“Wait a second.” Stiles blurts out over a sip of truly fantastic hot chocolate “Are you two forming some sort of super secret ninja club?”

Allison raises an eyebrow.

He must be in shock because normally that would definitely scare him into silence. “Like, rescuing me and stuff. You’re doing the whole superhero thing. Except with no superpowers. So, like, uh, a superhero sidekick league?”

That doesn’t sound quite as flattering as he intended.

“Allison tracked you when you disappeared from school. We’ve done it a few times when Danny or one of the other humans get in trouble and the Derek doesn’t have time to deal with it.” Lydia interrupts him, sounding very business like.

It sort of stings.

Seeing the hurt, Allison interjects with a quick “Not that they weren’t coming for you.”

“We’re just faster” Lydia finishes.

They don’t say anything else after that, so Stiles drains the thermos, and checks over his wounds. They’re minor for the most part, and Lydia proves to be frighteningly competent with anesthetic. Stiles observes that he probably won’t have any visible scarring from this particular kidnapping.

That leads to a conversation on scars, and past battles, and by the time the pack does show up to take care of the corpse they’re comparing notes on mountain ash, and Stiles thinks that must have been the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to everyone who responded, it's super motivating as I write/edit. Next up... Scott and Allison fighting. And baseball bats. And sass.


	3. Baseball Bats and Backfields

He almost doesn’t regret getting the whole thing with the Alpha twins when it ends with Allison driving him to emergency.

“Fine I’ll train you ok, just don’t die.”

He takes her up on it a week after he’s released from the hospital, and by the end of their first session he’s considering a return trip. If she doesn’t actually enjoy beating him up she’s doing a great job of faking it. It's almost a month before he can stay upright for more than thirty seconds when they spar. But as soon as he starts feeling sort of kinda comfortable with hand to hand stuff, Allison's already moving him on to weapons. 

The compact bow she chooses for him fits nicely into his hands, and he’s surprisingly decent with it. Nowhere near a hunter, but by the end of his first month Allison isn’t rolling her eyes anymore, and Mr. Argent actually lets him into the super-secret basement to play with all the other pretty weapons. It’s kind of awesome.

Again, none of them choose to dwell on their life choices.

Lydia is the one to veto throwing knives, after he nearly takes off her head with one the morning she shows up to help with his training. Guns are another no go - too loud and conspicuous. 

Crossbows are okay, and there’s more than one really appealing sword lurking in the weapons vault. But it’s the baseball bat that ends up being his weapon of choice.

It fits right in Stiles hands somehow; the weight is comfortable, familiar.

They practice with it like a sword or a club at first, and he eventually morphs into some new style of his own, part street fighter, part gymnast, part plain old American baseball.

Allison approves. He can tell because she stops holding back during their mock fights, which means he loses more often and gets some serious bruises. He’s weirdly proud.

 

When he beats her for the first time she laughs, a sharp bark of surprise.

Lydia, who had taken to working on the floor while they spar, looks up from her books and gives a rare, genuine smile. It looks good on her.

They offer to show her some moves and she goes back to the prima donna smirk, apparently still averse to the whole sweating thing. But she’s getting better with the spells and potions stuff, and she carries a knife in her designer bag.

 

There’s a week where the wolves are completely absent from school. Scott comes back talking about pack bonding, something involving Derek’s past and dealing with potential threats.

While they’re gone it’s up to the humans to hold down the fort. It’s a tad more complicated than walking the dog or picking up homework. Lydia starts screaming in the middle of math class - and Stiles has felt the urge to do so before, but not like that - and ten minutes later the school is under attack. Birds crashing through windows, lab rats knocking over cages, a pack of wild dogs barreling down the hallway. Even the fish in the office look feral. And Stiles has never expected to call a fish feral. 

They have the presence of mind to get out of the classrooms, ducking for cover in a windowless storage closet. It’s cramped and uncomfortable, but they’re safe.

“After this we come armed” he hears Allison whisper in the dark.

“Does that bow even fit in your locker?” Lydia hisses back.

When it’s quiet they get out, stumbling over each other in the process. The animals are gone. Across the hall a row of lockers are dripping, emblazoned in red. Three curved lines. It’s a Triskeleton.

“Oh” Lydia says. “Coming armed. Okay.”

They take pictures for Deaton, and the pack who return the next day. Allison bumps up their training schedule and starts carrying a tiny crossbow around in her backpack. 

 

Scott sits in once, watching as Stiles and Allison spar in the school’s backfield during a spare block. The ex-couple don’t hang out much these days - Allison still needs a bit of space from anyone even vaguely wolfy. But they can hold a conversation without turning crimson, making the situation at least comfortable if not the easy rhythm they once had.

Stiles lands on his back with a muffled groan, and Allison stands over him trying very hard not to smile.

He groans again, louder, as if to make a point. She definitely enjoys this.

Behind him, Scott laughs, muffling the sound with a cough. The change in Allison’s face is immediate.

“Could you do better?”

“Is that a challenge?”

Half of Stiles wants to tell her that he knows Scott, and he’s just kidding around, but a very small portion wants to see Allison pummel him. So he sits.

It’s a draw in the end - with Lydia chucking a textbook at them both because the unresolved sexual tension is seriously bothering her - but considering Allison is human and Scott is, well, not, Stiles considers it a win for team human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter features Derek. And Stiles. Together ...Okay not really together but it's still awesome.  
> Review for Derek?


	4. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for all the feedback! This chapter is a tiny bit longer than usual, and as promised Derek is in it! We're finally getting to actual plot...

It’s Lydia that finds the first victim.

She calls Stiles from the pool, and they drive to the hospital morgue in silence.

“Did you know him?” he asks, bending over the still cold body after the doctors have cleared out. They have a few moments before the family arrives, and he’s snapping photos with his phone for further research.

“No.”

“Do you know why you might have been at the pool?”

“No.” her voice is quiet, and she’s staring at her hands. They shake.

“Well, do you remember getting there at all? Like do you black out, or is it a hypnotism sort of thing?”

“Stiles.” She interrupts him “I was there. I found him. I don’t know why or how or anything about…”

Her control has slipped and she looks panicked, toying with her rings and avoiding his eyes. The body. She’s avoiding looking at the body.

“I’m going to leave now, okay?” She says, and then she’s gone.

It’s not until he’s zipped up the body bag and is at the door to follow her that he remembers Peter Hale. He slaps himself mentally, and then literally, because he really deserves it.

“I don’t think you’re the one killing them.” He tells her, the next morning before class.

She looks at the frappe he bought her as an apology for being an insensitive idiot and rolls her eyes.

“Seriously. You’re not strong enough for a garrote, probably, and there would definitely have been blood on your hands when I got to the pool anyway, so we can logically…”

She’s glaring again.

“I should have stopped at ‘you’re not killing them’ right?” he winces.

“Oh Stiles.”

 

It makes sense, with their luck, that the crazy druids are working with the equally psychotic Alpha pack. Their first strike together is terrifying, to say the least. It’s a mix of magic and claws and while Derek manages to kill the Darach it ends in way too much blood on both sides for anyone to call it a victory.

The pack holds a sort of victory party nonetheless, which is everyone sitting around Derek’s loft nursing lukewarm soda and holding ice packs over rapidly healing wounds. Allison skips, and Lydia follows her out of loyalty. Stiles drops in for a moment with Scott and ends up sitting in a corner with an increasingly irritating Peter Hale for most of the night.

“Lovely to see Scott’s bringing his pets to these little gatherings.”

“Weren’t you dead?”

The snark is a routine they’ve developed over a great deal of time spent tolerating each other.

After a while Scott comes to split them up, his eyes glinting between red and yellow and his usual worry.

Stiles can’t help notice that no one is plotting the next move or calling Deaton to ask what happens next. They’re reactionary, he can hear Allison saying, and he’s suddenly worrying about the next attack, and the widely unplanned future.

 

 

It’s not until the next day when he wakes to an impossibly tender back that he notices the bruising. It spreads from shoulder to hip, an ugly purple and yellow visible through his thin t-shirts. No one had asked or pointed it out the night before.

He reminds himself that the injuries don’t really matter, seeing as they won.

This doesn’t stop him waking from nightmares for weeks, where he is thrown to the ground and trapped beneath a beta’s claws, sharp fangs looming closer and closer. Judging by the bags under Allison’s eyes, she’s feeling the same.

When they train next Lydia dips each arrowhead and blade in a tincture of wolfsbane, and rubs it over the length of the wooden bat. An identical coat of the blue mixture glints on her nails as a reminder. Not everyone has a healing factor.

 

Derek had specifically told Stiles not to follow him while he was following Isaac, who was following Scott, who was meeting Deucalion in secret - something Derek had specifically told him not to do.

Stiles had then told Allison and Lydia not to follow him. 

All three are currently crouching in the rafters of an abandoned mall, totally not following anyone.

Scott looks small next to the ‘Alpha of Alphas’. Stiles thinks it’s pretty narcissistic - Lydia’s word - of Deucalion to just name himself like that. But then the guy seems quite fond of chewing on the scenery.

His little speech to Scott is fair proof of that.

And then everyone is fighting.

Ennis is yelling. Derek is pouncing. Scott is panicking and Deucalion smiling. Kali is sliding down a pillar with her feet. That girl is seriously freaky.

Stiles has only been training for a short while, but even he can tell that Derek is in way over his head. Ennis is big. Really Big. And when the Hale Alpha lunges he looks like mouse up against a particularly amused jungle cat.

Derek hits the floor, and Stiles can hear an audible crack.

Scott is fighting. Isaac is fighting. Beside him Lydia is fumbling for a knife and watching with wide eyes as Allison strings an arrow.

Stiles jumps.

It’s more like a fall. A really terrifying death defying fall that he’d like to never repeat. He lands on Ennis, who breaks said fall. There’s a sickening crack that he thinks might have been the werewolf’s spine.

The Alpha isn’t moving.

On the floor Derek growls, not healing fast enough to stand. There’s a crack in the floor, an arms length to his right. It’s about ten feet wide, and at least three stories deep.

Stiles wonders briefly if even a werewolf could survive that kind of fall.

The others are still fighting. In his head Lydia is yelling at him to run run RUN. Ennis is moving, quick jerky motions. In a few seconds he’ll be on his feet again, and Stiles is out of protectors.

He does it without thinking, grabbing the rapidly healing body by the collar and pulling towards the crater in the floor with everything he’s got. The Alpha howls as he crashes downwards, looking suddenly small.

Strong arms wrap around Stiles from behind, saving him from following Ennis. Apparently Derek is all healed now. The wolves around them are still fighting tooth and claw - literally - but everything is slowing around Stiles. He feels anchored, irrationally safe. 

He’s probably in shock again.

Kali screams. It’s not a good sound. And then Allison is raining light down on them and everything vanishes.


	5. Running

Allison’s had a bag packed beneath her bed since she was seven and aunt Kate told her that a girl should always be prepared. It’s filled with protein bars, an extra set of clothes, hair dye, a knife, and three separate sets of fake ID.

It’s heavy as she hoists it over her shoulder and makes her way downstairs. Her dad is there, and he holds her very tightly for a moment. She buries her face in his chest, trying to memorize the scent and feel of him.

Pulling away feels like a blade in both their chests.

 

“Your best option is to run.” Deaton tells them, when Lydia goes to his office with a photograph of the dead rats found on her doorstep that morning.

Stiles has a note crumpled in his hand. It smells of rot and the ink - he really hopes its ink - is smudged and red. It threatens his dad.

Allison doesn’t say anything, but her face is pale and her lips are set in a tight line.

“Kali is a ruthless killer.” Deaton is saying “It would appear she sees the three of you as having murdered her mate and wants revenge.”

Suddenly they’ve become a target.

 

Allison and her dad seem to have every possible scenario mapped out when it comes to fighting the supernatural, so it makes sense that they’ve got pre-packed escape kits and reserved seats on each plane and train out of the state.

For her part Lydia just brings a wad of cash, held together with bright elastics and stuffed into her handbag.

Before he leaves Stiles scribbles a quick note to his dad that explains enough so that he won’t go into Sheriff mode when he finds his son gone in the morning. There’s a twinge of guilt when he thinks about the new wrinkles and grey hair he’s been causing. His dad is aging too quickly.

Then again so is he.

 

Scott is the only one to say goodbye. Derek is hunting Kali, Peter is probably off being cryptic somewhere, and Cora is doing whatever it is Cora does. The rest of the pack is patrolling - too busy protecting them to notice they’re gone.

Scott drives them to the train station in the early hours of the morning and hugs each of them before they go.

“I’ll call when it’s all okay, okay?” He says.

“Sure.” Stiles nods, his throat suddenly choked up.

He watches his best friend fade away long after they’ve crossed county borders.

 

The first days are not the hardest, but they feel that way. They miss their parents and their friends. Missing proper food and the stability of a bedroom and algebra homework will come later, a more dull aching pain compared to the stab of immediate loss.

They cover a lot of ground in the first three days, refusing to find a hotel or stop for food. They go from train to greyhound to train again, surviving off of Allison’s protein bars and whatever’s available in vending machines. Aside from hearing howling on the second night, there’s no sign of Kali following them.

They deal in their own ways. Allison is quiet, stoic even, as she guards and scouts and mentally maps each train they board. Stiles mutters, and fidgets, and eats more sugar than he can possibly metabolize.

Lydia shops.

She calls it retail therapy, but Stiles insists he’s only going along with it to help construct a convincing fake identity.

“No way” he argues when Lydia tosses a new outfit over the fitting room door. The attendants had tried to stop her barging in and out with new selections, but she’s worn them down.

He looks in the mirror; dark skinny jeans, a grey top and gritty knit scarf. The jacket is leather, fashionably worn-out and aged. It’s all well fit and looks like something Isaac or Derek would wear. And it’s expensive.

“Yes.” Lydia says from behind him, nodding her approval.

“I really don’t think it’s, um, me?”

She purses her lips thoughtfully. “It could be...” she flips through their new ID’s in her head “…Richard Parker. The new you.”

Richard Parker - Reed Richards and Peter Parker - a combination of his two favourite superheroes. He’d given Allison the name as a joke when she suggested fake ID’s a few months back. This isn’t how he had imagined using it.

He glances back at the mirror as Lydia tosses over more stuff. He does look good.

 

Allison and Lydia take considerably longer than Stiles in their selection. Ducking into the ladies room while he hunts through the food court for anything vaguely nutritious. He misses them the first time they walk by.

It’s the laugh that tips him off, and then the pair of teenage girls behind him in line are suddenly familiar.

“Ohmygod.” For once, he’s actually out of words.

Allison runs her finger through freshly chopped hair. Lydia’s once strawberry-blonde curls are darker, less noticeable in auburn shades. She pulls a pair of thick-framed glasses from one of her shopping bags and pushes them in Stiles’ face. He puts them on with a grimace, causing giggles with his complaints.

“If they work for Spiderman, they can work for you.” She insists.

“It’s Superman, and I look ridiculous.” He says.

Allison giggles. “Same as usual then.”

Disguises in place they split a pile of yam fries - the hunt for nutritious food abandoned - and go through their phones, deleting each social media account they own.

Before boarding the next train they drop their old clothing in a hotel garbage disposal. Stiles pulls the SIM cards out of their phones and washes them down the sink. Outside they bury their old ID in a ring of wolfsbane.

Then they run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where it all gets interesting... I hope people like the plot twist? I'm not sure if the characters are getting too OOC - if you guys have suggestions/critique I would LOVE to hear it!
> 
> Also I'm not sure where to post this, so I'm putting it here, but I'm looking for a beta reader if anyone is interested?


	6. Trolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit short.. more coming soon...

In her dream Scott is holding her. He’s warm, and strong, and he smells like home. Her dad stands with them, smiling underneath what he thinks is an intimidating expression.

She doesn’t question that her mother is there. And when the older woman kisses her cheek and sinks the long, broad knife into the space between her daughter’s ribs it feels so natural that she’s surprised at the pain.

Gerard is there too, with claws and bleeding the black slime that flows to envelop her, strangling the breathe from her lungs as Scott steps back, letting her fall.

Allison screams, raw and silent, until even that is gone.

 

Two weeks in they have their first run in with wolves. The attack is drawn out and bloody, and it leaves them camped out in a boarded up diner for two days. The pack is young and they run barefoot. They show no signs of having seem wolfsbane before let alone a real hunter.

The humans fight and they win, but they are still scratched and bruised and hungry by the end of it. They practically crawl onto the next greyhound out of town, and spend a chunk of Lydia’s cash at the first gas station.

“Did Kali create a pack of Betas just to kill us?” Lydia asks.

Stiles is scarfing down a candy bar. He shrugs, swallows, and reaches for the next one.

“She’s insane.” 

“We have to be more careful.” Allison says.

After that they make The Rules. The first is to never stay anywhere longer than three days. For the most part contact with other people is limited to buying food or train tickets. A line of White Ash and salt blocks the doorway to wherever they sleep.

Stiles leans the bat against his bed each night, easy to reach.

They don’t stop once in Arizona. There are natural wolf populations in the woods, and none of them can sleep with the howling at night.

 

When they start running low on cash they make their way to Vegas, where Lydia cheats a small fortune out of a series of serious looking men in dark suits. Stiles stands over her shoulder glaring at anyone who leans too close to her hand. Allison drinks.

It’s only when they leave that Stiles notices the thing on their trail, and suddenly understands why the hair on his neck’s been standing up all evening. 

It doesn’t get within two feet of them before sprouting a bolt through the skull. Allison fires two more arrows after it’s gone down, hands perfectly steady.

The look on her face is scary dark, and Stiles is grateful that he gets to take care of hiding the corpse while Lydia slowly disarms her friend. The crossbow is a silent weapon but they’re going to draw a crowd soon, so Stiles snaps a picture with his crappy burn phone and rolls the body face down. Hopefully passersby will think it’s just another drunk in the gutter.

It’s not until they’re back at the hotel that he identifies the facial markings. They’re pulling out the weapons a minute later.

Everyone knows trolls run in packs.

 

It proves to be one very long night. The thing about trolls being big, ugly, and stupid is partially a myth. They’re big, and they’re generally pretty ugly, but these ones prove to be fairly intelligent and are targeting the three humans for some unknown reason.

Upon reflection, the unknown reason is probably Kali.

“Door?” Stiles asks during a lull between attacks, crouched below the room’s one window.

“Got it” Allison barks, perched over the bed, crossbow loaded and at the ready.

Lydia is on the floor, drawing convoluted symbols on the carpet in purple sharpie.

“Stiles? I think I’m going to need your help here.”

He glances at Allison.

“I can handle both” her eyes slip over the window and scan the street below, “I estimate five minutes before the next wave of attacks.”

Her voice is toneless and it’s the most she’s said since the Casino. On the floor Lydia and Stiles exchange a worried look. Lydia’s voice in his head - he’s still not a fan of this Jedi mind trick stuff but it’s coming in handy - tells him they’ll deal with it when they aren’t fighting for their lives.

And they are fighting for their lives. Again. What’s left of the little motel is empty but for the three of them, the owners and innocents having fled at the first attack, running as the trolls crashed through the windows with blades swinging. Stiles doesn’t want to know what happened to them. He’s sort of focused on getting out of this alive with the two girls next to him.

“And close the circle there. Good.” 

Lydia guides his hands. He can hear footsteps in the hallway.

He wonders where she found yellow sand, and the time to study all this. 

The circle closes and everything goes black and silver and sharp. Someone is yelling, high pitched like nails on a chalkboard, and a clawed hand reaches out to grab at him…

 

A second later Stiles is puking in a gutter. Allison is gaping, and Lydia is managing to look simultaneously dead exhausted and extremely smug. 

They’re in an alleyway somewhere, and it’s not Vegas.

“What the hell Lydia!?” Allison gasps, somewhere between relief and fury.

“I didn’t know if it would work. But it did.” She smirks, “no more trolls.”

“Did we just teleport?”

Both girls ignore him.

He heaves again. Apparently teleportation doesn’t agree with him. How embarrassing. Allison is looping an arm under his shoulder, and fuzzy voices talk about hotels and lost ID.

“He’s bleeding a lot”, someone says.

“Stiles?” the voices are more urgent now. He tries to tell them to be quiet, he wants to sleep, “Stiles!”

“Stiles!”

Everything goes black for the second time.


	7. Sushi and Stitches

How the two of them find and pay for a hotel room while coated in troll blood and dragging his half-conscious body he will never know. Someone says something about the last of their cash and tells him to be quiet as they get in an elevator.

The bed is soft and the sheets are really pretty and white and clean. He misses clean. And his Dad. And Scott, even though Scott wasn’t clean most of the time. This time it’s Lydia who tells him to hush, while glancing nervously at Allison and her improv first aid.

She’s disinfecting dental floss with a tiny bottle of alcohol from the mini fridge.

The first stitch really hurts.

 

Even before Vegas there hadn’t been much direction to their movements. Mexico was mentioned more than once, even Europe. But for the most part the three teens had been running aimlessly, hopping the first train or bus that comes their way. 

Lydia recognizes the subconscious patterns of course. Each train they take carries them farther away from Beacon Hills. But by not actually charting a course they don’t have to think about a return date, or missing what they’ve left behind.

She hadn’t had time to write any particular destination into the spell. It had taken what was in her head and pulled them through space to where she wanted to be.

Away.

Vancouver, British Columbia. Half a continent and one very large international border away from Beacon Hills, California.

Sometimes she wishes her subconscious would shut up and go back to being, well, subconscious.

 

Stiles takes advantage of his forced rest to catch up on reading. Lydia couldn’t actually take the Argent’s entire library with them, but she does have a kindle, and it’s stocked with most of the important texts. He spends the next two days curled up in an oversized bed with room service milkshakes and the Internet.

At this rate, they’re going to need to find another casino.

Allison takes a breather instead, with promises of robbing a bank on her way back from starbucks. They don’t want to know if she’s serious.

Stiles is silent when he reads, which is unusual for him, only breaking the quiet to mutter about seriously archaic hunter practices, or beg to be let out.

“Seriously Lydia. I’m fine.”

“You have a concussion, and three cracked ribs.”

“Probably because you teleported us halfway across the continent.”

She smirks, still a bit proud of that before she realizes she should probably be freaking out.

 

Allison finds a 24hour sushi place a few blocks from where they stay, with free wifi and tiny corner booths that the three of them can curl up in comfortably. The rolls are cheap, and tea is free. 

The owner’s name is Anne, and she doesn’t question the Stiles’ bruises or the crossbow Allison props beside her on the bench. They come in at all hours, in the hot afternoons or late at night when the hotel they’ve found is too loud for sleep.

They could move on, but Vancouver is big and bustling, and it feels safe to be among so many people. There hasn’t been any sign of the Alpha pack yet, and Lydia likes to believe that if something supernatural and horrid pops up someone else will be able to take care of it.

Nonetheless there are times when they come in bloodied, and Anne serves them sake and tempura on the house. She says her brother was in a gang once, and Stiles wishes his life were so simple.

 

The rest is healthy. They never really stop running, but they sleep in the same place each night. Allison dreams less - she doesn’t think the others noticed the nightmares, but they did - and Stiles hasn’t woken up clutching for the bat in a while. Lydia smiles more, the real kind. It’s good.

They find a park by the beach to train in - cool and shady with plenty of open space. They’re getting a real summer finally, and as they spread out on a blanket it almost feels like a vacation.

It’s no surprise that Lydia is really good at the memorizing spells bit. She’s powerful, but in an unexpected twist Stiles proves to be the most adept at the magic itself. She can do the big stuff, for sure. Fell trees and cause explosions and wander around amnesiac until she finds a dead body. But little things like floating twigs or lighting candles fall to Stiles, who is less likely to blow up the takeout boxes when he trying to cut the sandwiches telekinetically.

Lydia reminds herself that being too powerful is hardly a bad thing.

Allison chucks a Frisbee their way and Stiles stops it midair with a word. The grin that spreads across his face is worth the slight defeat. 

She sends it spinning around the top branches of a pine later that afternoon, just to prove a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't a lot of action to this chapter, mostly set up for the next one... some nice bonding time for the team... Next up is seriously badass Allison (And Stiles being adorable)


	8. Pack

They find a freshly bitten girl in the woods. She’s scared, and runs when they approach. When they catch up to her - and Stiles is a little freaked at how easy it is, was Scott ever this helpless? Was he? - she’s matted and bloody and tired.

He picks her up and she clings to his shirt. She can’t be more than ten years old.

She’s crying.

Lydia gives him a look. Say something she urges, pushing a memory into his head - it’s the two of them in that first year, her crying in a parked car. Connect with her, she says.

He asks her name.

“Mei” she sniffles.

“Can you remember what happened Mei?” That’s the wrong question. She starts to cry again and Allison glares at him from ahead where she’s scouting for the Alpha.

He tries again “Okay. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me where your mum is, and then we can go find her?”

She tells him, and his heart sinks a little.

 

 

Anne doesn’t cry when they bring Mei into the empty restaurant. She freezes for a second, and Stiles watches the panic twist and break behind her eyes before she blinks and pulls it back under a calm veneer.

“Who?” She asks once they’ve locked the doors and laid the child down on a clean table “How?”

It takes hours, but Lydia explains, because Stiles and Allison have both lost family and they know that fear in Anne’s eyes too well to be any help. When she’s done the older woman is silent.

Stiles has written spell-work over the wound to take away the pain, and he’s cleaning it when Anne takes the cloth from him, doing the work herself. Her hand tangles in her daughter’s hair, a gesture of comfort. The healing factor is already working and makes her actions unnecessary, but none of them try to tear her away.

“Can it be undone?” She asks.

None of them meet her eyes, and she nods once, understanding.

“I’ve very grateful for all you’ve done, but I want you to go now please.”

They leave.

 

Allison calls her dad. It’s the first phone call any of them have made in weeks. Her hands shake.

“Dad?”

“Allison.” His voice is tired, rough. She wonders how she must sound.

“Are you alright?”

The words come fast “Yeah. Dad, I’m okay. We’re all okay. I miss you so much, I’m sorry, we’re in -”

“Don’t tell me!” He interrupts, and it sounds like it hurts him, not knowing where she is “No specifics.”

The others are watching her, maybe expecting tears. She pulls back, remembering Victoria and her steely control. She breathes deep and focuses, allows her training take over.

“I need information on wolf packs in Canada.”

 

 

There are no less than four separate packs in the Vancouver area. Nonetheless, finding the Alpha that bit Mei is almost too easy. He’s a greasy man, and they hunt him down in an appropriately dark bar on Hastings, an area Anne’s warned them about in the past.

If he remembers biting a child he won’t admit it. Stiles catches a glimpse of his pack, street rats mostly, too thin and too young, covered with piercings and fresh scars.

He sees the way the Alpha watches Lydia walk in, and his glimpse down Allison’s shirt. The man is a pig, and none of them are letting Mei within twenty feet of him.

Once they make this clear, the Alpha decides to stake a claim.

“If I bit her, she’s my pack. Simple.” He spits, and sends a glare at Stiles who is glowering “She’ll find us, or we find her.”

Wolves. Lydia growls as they leave, wise enough to walk away.

 

They research. He’s not related to the Alpha pack or Kali in any way. Stiles sort of wishes he were, so that he could have an excuse to rip the man’s throat out and do the world a favour.

In the end Lydia closes the laptop and very quietly and asks why they can’t just do it anyhow.

 

Killing the wolf is absurdly simple.

Allison had never thought of herself as a killer. Even in the dark streak with Gerard, she’d just wanted revenge, to run from her mother’s death. But here, perched in an alleyway, lying in wait for her prey, she can face the truth.

There is a part of her, dark and cold and Argent that wants to kill, to see a threat and eliminate it, wipe it off the board. She’s been trained for it, built for it. The hesitation and fear can be pushed away, replaced with a steely mask of control. She pictures her mother, hands steady on a blade. Fearless.

She’s a warrior, a protector for the little girl fresh bitten and afraid. 

When the first arrow embeds itself in the Alpha’s flesh she feels nothing but satisfaction.

 

Leaving the corpse covered in arrows and wolfsbane is crude, but effective. It’s a message - Mei has protectors now, a warning to any pack members that might think to stake a claim on her.

The little girl grins ear to ear when they visit, holding onto Stiles’ hand while they talk with her mother in hushed tones. With permission Lydia brings someone in to meet them. He’s tall, easily towering over Anne and little Mei. But his smile is open and his eyes are soft, and he shakes each of their hands with the utmost gentleness.

He calls himself Luca and tells Anne that he’s an Alpha who can help her keep her daughter safe.

Stiles is surprised to see her look to him for help. He turns to Lydia, confused.

She nods and he does the same, giving approval, and when Anne isn’t looking Lydia rolls her eyes at him.

By the end of the day Mei has transferred her adoration from Stiles to Luca, who willingly eats a spoonful of wasabi, and lets her show him around the small house and restaurant below.

As they leave Stiles’ watches Lucas’ eyes on the kid, already protective, ready to catch her if she falls. He knows that look. Lydia gives him the same one as they make their way home, playfully punching him in the side. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and they share the look with Allison when the hunter joins them, grinning with grim satisfaction.

It’s pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very very sorry for the long gap between posts. Real life has been getting in the way of writing... But we've only got two more chapters to go, and then an epilogue probably... Oh and you WILL see some of the Beacon Hills pack in the next chapter!


	9. Airports and Alleyways

They have to leave after that. Wolf packs don’t like little humans who kill Alphas, and living in a city with multiple packs is suddenly much less comfortable. Luca helps them restock and drives them to the airport. He’s kind and quiet, and seems friendly enough, but none of them miss the way he eyes the weapons in Allison’s bag and never turns his back on any of them. 

Allison tells herself she’s used to it. She’s Argent; prickly relations with werewolves sort of comes with the job of hunting and killing them, even if she’s more select than some of her family.

Stiles seems set off by it, hiding beneath sarcasm and bad puns for most of their ride to the airport. Allison can see the hair pricking up on the back of his neck, and the way his hands twitch with the fastener on his satchel. Lydia finally snatches it from him at one point, snappy and on edge herself.

Luca sees them off through customs, and slips off as they collect bags and re-lace their shoes. They’d decided on flying back into the states, taking economy seats on the first plane out of the country. Neither of her friends is speaking as they pass the souvenir shops full of maple leaf memorabilia.

“Magazine?” Allison points out a rack of Vogue and Elle to Lydia.  
“No thanks.”

They have an hour to waste, so they settle at a table, watching people file past. The other two aren’t guilty exactly, Allison thinks, they just aren’t used to people fearing them. It’s an adjustment. 

She does the only thing she can think to help.

“Come on” She says, linking an arm through each of theirs and putting on her best imitation-Lydia smile “We’re getting ice cream.”

It doesn't fix anything. But watching Stiles waltz past security with a dash of raspberry swirl on his nose is enough to make Lydia laugh. It's something.

 

There is little reason to their movements now. Apart from a few close calls with a vampire for hire in Seattle, Kali doesn’t seem to be on their trail. The rules are looser as a result, and they tend to stay in one place for longer than before, meeting people, picking up bits and pieces of knowledge as they go. Lydia doesn’t remember when they became hunters, but they did, and suddenly they aren’t just running from the danger, they’re fighting and winning. And helping.

They help a lot. There is more than one small town that owes them their state of peace and tranquility. Even more once-omega’s happily settled into a peaceful pack that now owe them favors. In New Orleans they help a boy who introduces them to a swamp witch. She’s powerful, really powerful, so Stiles and Lydia spend a good deal of time up to their knees in mud scribbling ancient words with twigs and bones while Allison paces and polishes her knife.

 

“Does it hurt?” Allison asks one night. “The magic?”

Lydia shrugs. “Not really. I get headaches, but it’s better than being amnesiac all the time.”

She remembers the pack that had chased them down in Oregon, the way her attacker had gaped as her spell-work had tossed him aside. She smiles at the memory.

“You don’t ever feel like it makes you cold? Like it takes over so that you’re just… it and not you?”

Lydia peers at her friend. They’re on the hotel room floor, a bottle of cheap white wine between them, with Stiles spread out snoring on one of the beds. 

They’d hit a bar - a nice perk of their fake ID - early in the night with a group of university kids that had challenged them to shots. The humans had drunk them into the ground, and followed the victory with, well, victory drinks.

Upon reflection, it was probably not their best decision ever.

Allison was watching the grey glass of the window, and resolutely not looking at her.

“Is this one of those thing where we talk about me, but we’re actually talking about you?” Lydia asks, feeling sympathetic and a bit sleepy.

The next words are shaky “It’s like, the hunter takes over. And I’m scared of it, but it’s me, and they made me this way, but I can’t…” she chokes “…I can’t hate them.”

“…Your mom?”

Allison nods, and then she’s crying, and maybe it’s because the bottle is more than half empty, or because it’s two in the morning, or just that they keep forgetting they’re little more than teenagers and hundreds of miles from home.

She cries, sudden and painful and when Stiles wakes up Allison chokes out a tearful apology and Lydia can see his heart break in his eyes for the hundredth time.

“Family stuff?”

She nods, and he goes to hug her, and he says all the right things. He’s got a dead mom too Lydia remembers, and he gets it, the guilt and the loss and the anger. The numbing helplessness, because she’s gone and you don’t get to fix that, or change any of the past now that it’s over.

When they wake up they’re draped over each other in an uncomfortable pile, with the wine gone and bleary eyes.

Allison recovers first, punching Stiles in the shoulder. Hard.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

He winces “What?”

“Feelings.”

Her voice is deadpan, but when he looks over through the hangover he sees a tiny smile.

“Love you too.”

 

Stiles is elected to do the morning coffee run, as apparently the night before is completely his fault. He’s not sure how that works, him being asleep for half of it and all, but Lydia is scary in the morning so he does as told.

The pounding in his head has decreased to a dull roar, with each step reverberating from the pavement through his skull. He makes a note to never touch alcohol again. Like, ever.

He’s a half block away from the hotel with a tray containing the required extra hot vanilla lattes and assorted muffins when he realizes he’s being followed. He takes a right, walks two blocks, then a left, and down the first empty alley way he can find.

The second his tail turns the corner he’s tossed a net of spell work at the boy, freezing him in place. He’s taller than Stiles, and he fights back rather fruitlessly, claws springing from his fingers with a snap.

He growls a name.

For the first time that morning Stiles’ grip becomes shaky, and he barely avoids dropping the coffees in his surprise.

“Isaac?”

 

“I tried to contact you” Lydia says, quite bluntly and way too loudly when he enters. 

“I couldn’t hear you over the pounding noise in my head” he moans, handing her a coffee. Isaac has followed him inside but Stiles doesn’t have time or interest in explanations.

“Fix it?” he whines.

Lydia mutters something old and vaguely Latin sounding. His head lightens and the world is clear and tolerable again. 

That’s when he notices the other wolves in the room. And he wishes he were hung-over again or even out cold, because it’s way too early in the morning to be dealing with an unshaven Derek Hale sitting on his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally meeting the Hale pack again! Yay! Next chapter will have Derek. Lots of Derek. And character growth-y stuff maybe...


	10. Last Stop

Stiles never really got to know Isaac. He was the quiet kid in the back of class for a while, and then he was freaky-scary, and then he was bro’s with Scott and wearing cardigans all of a sudden.

Not that Stiles really objects to the cardigans. They’re nice. But it’s weird to have the guy sitting in his hotel room, and talking like they’re pack or something.

“Derek and Boyd got here after you left” Allison is explaining, “Isaac went to find you, in case you were in trouble.”

“I was getting coffee. ” He replies, still a little confused “The danger thing is covered. Like, forced nomadic lifestyle covered.”

It’s been four months, not much longer than a school semester, but it feels like a lifetime. The wolves look different, younger and smaller than he remembers, except maybe for Derek with his ancient eyes.

Not a line of thought he needs at the moment.

“I told him that.” The way Allison’s eyes keep slipping to the Alpha tells Stiles that they’ve probably been arguing, and that neither is past Victoria Argent yet.

“You’re in more danger than you think.” Derek says, ignoring her. “Deaton heard rumors of a new group of hunters. They’ve been all across the country, fighting with some werewolf packs, making deals with others. Extremely dangerous were his words - They took down an Alpha up in Canada.”

“He died pretty horribly too, magic and arrows dipped in wolfsbane.” Isaac chimed in.

“They’re the type the Alpha packs might make an alliance with. Deaton thinks they could be tracking you as a favour or something.” Derek continues, looking worried. “You’ve hit some of the same cities, and…”

He stops, seeing their faces.

“Um, it’s okay though? We’re here to protect you now.”

Boyd’s bark of laughter - the first sound he’s made since arriving - interrupts him. He answers Derek’s confusion with a gesture at the three of them.

“It’s them you idiots.”

Comprehension dawns on Isaac’s face. Stiles thinks he might see a grin. Boyd is chuckling still, enjoying the sight of Derek’s confusion.

“Extremely dangerous” Lydia hums, pursing her lips in satisfaction. Then she thanks the pack for their completely unnecessary concern and flounces off to find breakfast, since Stile’s starbucks has gone cold. After a beat Allison follows, with Boyd and Isaac on her heels.

The room empties. Derek is still staring at Stiles, confused and concerned. He looks lost, and Stiles knows the feeling all too well. He proposes the first solution that comes to mind.

“Coffee?”

 

Stiles isn’t quite sure how to deal with this new Derek. Normally if he offered the Alpha re-heated coffee and made him sit on a hotel balcony in some weird parody of domesticity he’d be getting threats of his head being bashed in.

But this Derek just stares at him like he’s not sure what he’s seeing.

“You wear glasses?”

He pulls them off and sets them on the table, nervous. “They’re fake. Clark Kent. A disguise thing, y’know?”

“Oh.”

The silence is awkward. Derek is still watching him.

And then “You killed an Alpha?”

“Allison did. I mean, the runes on the arrows were mine, and the wolfsbane grave and all that, but she did the actual killing bit.” He tries to better explain it “Right. I do magic now. I mean, I did before, with the Kanima and the mountain ash, but I know how to control it now.” 

The words keep coming “It was to protect someone - the Alpha - not like an assassination or anything. We’re not, you know, actual hunters.”

He’s rambling, so he stops, and avoids Derek’s eyes.

“You have a scar.”

Stiles startled, and then cast a quick glance down. He’d forgotten.

“Oh yeah. There were trolls. But we got them.”

“Right.” Derek is starting to look ill. He growls something under his breath, and Stiles watches his hands open and close round the arms of the cheap plastic chair.

“You were supposed to go away and be safe.” He finally says, Stiles doesn’t know if he’s mad at Stiles or himself. “I didn’t mean for you to go out and be in more danger.”

So he’s still blaming himself for the world’s problems. Nothing’s changed. Stiles is torn between being touched and laughing at the absurdity of it.

“I think we would have left by ourselves eventually anyways. We needed it.”

The Alpha sighs, but then looks at him, really looks at him for the first time.

“You’re stronger now.” It’s half question, half statement.

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. We can face stuff on our own. We’re not just the weak little humans anymore. We’ve got magic and strategy and stuff.” Stiles grins a tiny bit “We’re good. Like, really good.”

He remembers Mei, and Anne, even Allison the night before.

“We can protect people. Each other.”

Derek nods.

“Good” He says, looking exhausted “Because we need you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who wanted Derek, and the humans heading back to Beacon Hills... there you go! I think this is really where the story/journey ends, but I will be posting an epilogue of sorts in the next few days.


	11. Epilogue

The pack had come by car. It belongs to Derk and is new, less flashy than the old one and with more seating. Stiles didn’t realize how little stuff they’d accumulated until he saw how easily the four of them could fit with only a few bags in the trunk and his bat propped on the floor by his feet. Derek had insisted that Isaac and Boyd could take the train, though Allison’s strained smile spoke pretty clearly on her travelling preferences. Stiles just hoped for Lydia’s sake that Peter wouldn’t be part of the welcome home party when they arrived.

It ends up being Scott, of course. They’re meeting at the school, a central spot that’s empty on the weekend, and he barely waits for them to get out of the car before he’s jumping off the sidewalk to tackle them with hugs. Stiles feels himself swept up and suddenly can’t suppress the mental image of an overgrown puppy. He’d missed his friend.

Mr Argent is there too, catching Allison when she runs to him and holding her tightly. Lydia joins them after a moment, and he wraps a protective arm over her shoulder. He scans Stiles over for damage, and gives him an approving nod. It’s warm, and Scott’s still got his arm draped around his shoulders. Even Derek is smiling a little. But something’s missing.

It’s not until he’s offered a ride home that he realizes what it is.

His Dad isn’t there, and the hollow space in his chest that Stiles has been ignoring for the last four months is suddenly gaping.

 

The three of them are perched on a sidewalk in front of the school. Mr Argent was waiting in the car, telling them to take all the time they need.

Stiles had told Scott that they were fine, they’d go home and sleep and eat and show up when the fight was ready to happen. It was strange to know exactly where they were. Stiles had walked on this pavement almost every day for three years, when the whole world was small and familiar, packed into the back of his mind like a map. He could trace the steps to each classroom in his head, through to the backfield to where they’d played lacrosse and sparred a very long time ago.

They were home. There was no bus to catch, no scramble to find a hotel or safe corner for the night. They could place their enemy on a map - roughly - and had a reasonable expectation of where and when their next meal and bed would be.

Stiles skin suddenly feels too small. He gets up, paces, and flops down again.

“What do we do?”

“We’re going to beat Kali, if she comes for us.” Allison says, quite simply “We stop running, and we do what we have to do to get rid of the Alphas.”

“And then?”

They sit for a long moment.

“Go home.” Lydia tells him, “We’re safe for now.”

He nods, standing slowly. His muscles are sore, aching.

“You’ll call. If anything goes badly?”

“Yeah.”

 

If he’d had his jeep he could have been home in minutes. Instead he turns down the offered ride and walks, tracing steps he’d forgotten he knew. It’s night but the pavement is hot beneath his feet, and he’s sweating, and shaking, and suddenly Stiles is running, full out sprinting, his footfalls matching the pounding in his ears. He reaches the familiar front porch and stops, freezing with a hand raised over the doorframe.

What if he’s angry?

Something hits the pavement behind him.

Stiles turns, slowly, feeling as though his feet might have been turned to lead. The Sheriff is frozen a few steps from the porch, dressed in civvies and empty handed. Two bags of groceries are lying on the pavement. Milk leaks from a crushed carton, wetting the bottom of his running shoes.

 

“Stiles?”

 

“…Hi Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So .....yes. There we go, the humans are back in Beacon Hills, family and pack are reunited, and the story is complete. Thank you so much to everyone who stuck around to read the whole thing and left comments/kudos - you were a huge support and I loved hearing your thoughts!! I hope you enjoyed the story <3


End file.
